Seaweed Prints and Sourdough
March 28, 2010
Only a few piles of dog eared admin remain before we can escape to Olhao and the new room on top. On the way to the post office, mimosa and forsythia are fizzing with yellow. It seems a little wasteful to be leaving behind the first budding and greening signs of spring but the draw of sand between toes and sardines are tantalizing too. And after more technology malfunctions (I won’t even go there) parking ticket angst, missed train connections, and near hospitalisation involving clogs on a down escalator, I’m ready to walk there, let alone fly .
Just have to get in a session of dough making for pizza (artichoke hearts, green olives and parmesan, is my current favourite) and other homemade creations (see here my sister in law’s divine rye sourdough bread) to illustrate my new book. The four legged paparazzo is enjoying the cooking sessions too, hanging around the worktop for crumbs, and helping herself to the subject matter of a flapjack shot when no one’s looking. It’s all go putting together the pages, and the deadline is no tiny speck in the distance anymore. But that’s good, too, because it means the weeks are slipping away until the backpacker daughter returns.
When I’m back first stop will be gorgeous fabrics at the V&A exhibition, Quilts 1700-2010. Might even get round to a spot of quiltmaking with pretty seaweed prints from the museum’s collection of archive printed cotton. Check out more print ideas from Printand pattern.blogspot.com and Liberty prints at knockdown prices in the new range for American chain store Target .
Spring garden notes:
Divide agapanthus: I have an extended family of agapanthus plants that came stashed in a suitcase from Spain and are now packed tightly in a pot like chocolate fish in a tin, which is how they like it. This year, though, division is necessary to keep the plants vigorous and I cut them down the middle with a fork and plant the new half in a fresh container.
Feed shrubs and climbers: I started with the standard roses, and have now worked in more compost and bonemeal around the shrub and climbing roses, and gorgeous pale lilac wisteria at the front of the house.
Sow seedlings half hardy under cover: Nicotiana and zinnia seeds saved from last year are germinating in a tray on the windowsill. Sow less than think as a pinch of seed goes a long way.
Prepare trenches for beans and ‘chitted’ potatoes and dig in muck or compost (on another sea salty note, I remember my grandmother lined her bean trenches with seaweed and newspaper to conserve moisture).
Sweet and utilitarian
March 1, 2010
Bother! I’d hoped to get my post out before the end of February. I am diverted from my laptop to equip the eldest daughter with ‘wedding ring’, door wedge, extending washing line and all the other stuff for the gap year female traveller. It is like losing a limb when she walks through Terminal 5 departures, but I can get in the bathroom now. And in the way that life sometimes seems to synchronise itself, my new book contract is signed and the deadline is just about the date she returns. Publication is next spring, but I’ll give you some sneak previews along the way.
Some design notes:I won’t ever tire of gingham, it’s a really inexpensive way to add a spot of spring colour to the home: a simple pull on chair cover ,say . My temple is MacCulloch & Wallis who sell online as well as from a shop crowded with young fashion students in central London. Look out, too for enamel alphabet letters and numbers from Hyperkit, more timeless simple design. RIP Lucienne Day one of our great designers, known for her painterly and simple Fifties’ fabrics. I also have a passion for the stacking Polyprop chairs that her husband Robin Day designed, and can still be picked up from secondhand shops and markets.
There are walking babies, crawling babies, sicky babies and back-up babies modelling shoes in the house, and so I escape to the garden. It’s looking spare (an understatement) but crocuses like bright fruit drops are pushing through. I prune the roses with vigour giving the 4 standards the equivalent of a military short back and sides. But they will flower well and spread without looking wild and untidy. They have a good feed with shovels of rich earthy compost from the bottom of the bin. It’s so cold I can’t be bothered to dig it in, but it’s raining so the nutrients will wash down to where the roots need it .
The room on top in Olhao is nearing completion after the builders have ducked and dived the thrashing winds and rains of the Algarve’s worst weather in 30 years. It’s a whole new vista up here. In the distance, a band of cobalt sea beneath a grey blue sky, tv aerials, flapping laundry, a silver winding mesh of homing pigeons, the fizzing pink of an almond tree. And all with the Olhao soundtrack of dogs barking, bells, and the strains of a fado song on next door’s radio. NB The dearth of photographic evidence is due to further gadget malfunction, this time, my newly acquired i-phone, a marvellous invention, when it works
The blues and greens of the seaside are exhilarating but no less than the rolling hills and valleys on the drive to see my Dad in Somerset: a mossy palette as if from a Farrow and Ball paint chart. And then there is more heavenly natural colour at the Van Gogh exhibition, where my rushhour Friday stress melts before the artist’s drawings and paintings of French gardens and vegetable patches
What with all the backpacking details I almost leave the marmalade making too late, but am saved by the last boxful of Sevilles at the local greengrocer. Soon the kitchen is a bittersweet aromatic fug and the mind only focused on the job. No wonder DH Lawrence said “I got the blues thinking of the future so I left off and made some marmalade.” I read though that 80% of marmalade eaters are over 45. Don’t you think we should champion the young to get boiling and stirring? It’s such a pity that marmalade has that fusty old major at the breakfast table image.
I pot the marmalade in recycled jars that I save and store under the sink. Holding one’s golden efforts in a simple glass jar topped with a cellophane lid and decorated with a homemade label is pure pleasure; so, too, is a slice of bread topped with marmalade and a spoonful of creme fraiche.
Porridge and blankets
January 13, 2010
The snow woman is limbo dancing in the garden (her structure undermined in a temporary thaw) and the skiers have returned from the Brockwell Park slopes. Welcome to 2010 and the weird world of weather. For the last two weeks we Londoners, together with the rest of the country have been grappling with the biggest freeze-up for years.
This one is maybe not as punishing as the winter of 1947 when people were using pneumatic drills to dig up frozen parsnips and 20 foot snowdrifts cut off thousands, but it is bad enough to inflict an itchy collection of chilblains upon my 15 year old‚Äö?Ñ?¥s toes. The red and swollen effects have been hastened by her unenthusiasm for sensible (ie uncool) walking boots. I explain (the without judgement style of explaining) that Top Shop pumps are probably not the best option for negociating ankle height slush, grit and skating rink pavements.
Even if the footwear advice is not exactly welcomed at least the suggestion that everyone keeps warm with hot bowls of porridge at breakfast is met with approval; not only comforting but the ideal vehicle for large amounts of dark muscovado sugar or golden syrup. I make it with roughly one cup of oats to three cups of water. Bring the ingredients to the boil in a saucepan and simmer gently, stirring occasionally, until creamy. Honey, butter, cream, creme fraiche or chopped dates are other delights to eat with porridge.
The hyacinth bulbs I potted some weeks ago are throwing delicious scent around the room, and this, combined with the wood smoke from the fire gives the house the feeling of a rural oasis…….. I can almost hear the sheep bleating.
Reading in bed at night, swathed in an array of colourful wraps and blankets to keep warm, I’m told I look like an eccentric aunt. How romantic. One of my favourites is a cotton cellular example that I dyed lilac to pep up its hospital look. I’d like to add one of Donna Wilson’s takes on traditional Scottish blankets to the pile. And if I was to introduce some colour to my bedding themes, then Dorma’s new duck egg blue cotton sheets would be perfect.
I’m the first to bang on about the false economy of buying cheap gadgets. But when my iron was lost on one of the shoots a few months ago, as a stop gap I nipped down to the electrical shop and bought the cheapest one I could find. In short, a mistake highlighted when I swished, rather than sweated, through the creases with the new Phillips model that has replaced the bad buy. With the windows steamy, a cup of Earl Grey, and the afternoon play going in the background, I soon got through the stack of pre-washed tea towels to be made up into linen tablecloths, orders for which are flying out of my online shop.
Petals for pudding
April 15, 2009
Pedalling past marzipan scented broom and blazing white magnolias in Battersea Park each morning put my head in the right place, for 4 days hard study at the botannical painting course I attended last week. The freesia is not my first choice to put in water on the table (maybe because the modern hybrids are too uniform in shape) but I began to appreciate its structure and complexity as our teacher Elaine Searle calmly guided the group of aspiring plant painters to observe, sketch, and watercolour the specimens.
The final painting now stuck up on my noticeboard, is far from brilliant but I’m pleased with my efforts. What’s best is that I’ve been given the tools to be more confident at painting herbs from the garden, the best escape from a dismal tasks like appealing against parking tickets. NB I must return the magnifying glass,needed for the course, and on loan from the local newsagent whose heavenly home cooked lunch time curries waft comfortingly around his shop. I’m so enthused by my nascent painterly skills I shall go out and buy my own lens even if it does make you look slightly odd peering intently at a lone tomato.
The sprouting seed nursery in the office is getting under my feet as the fledging plants make their break towards the light. I have transplanted the zinnias into peat pots, which can go straight into the ground later on, as I they don’t do well with too much handling of the roots. I have a passion for the riotous pinks and purples of this frilly late summer flower, which looks so colourful in the border and as decoration.
The basil is brimming nicely and that will be next in line to pot on. I might even put the sweet peas outside next week, covering them with a bit of fleece to be on the safe side. CH Middleton an old school BBC garden expert from the thirties whose book An Outline of a Small Garden, I picked up for 3.00 from a junk shop suggests that the best way to get fine big flowers , is put them at least six inches apart in a deeply-dug and well manured soil, and give each one a good long cane or stick to support it; then as they grow, nip out all the the little side shoots as soon as they appear, leaving the one stem to each plant. In this way you will get very tall plants and extra fine flowers.
I am also really hoping that the sprouting leaves of night scented stock will be successful. You hardly notice it during the day, but on a summer evening it entices you outside with its powerful scent. I shall grow it in pots near the garden table so we can enjoy its scent on one of those calm balmy nights which are possible in this country if the isobars on the weather map are wide enough apart.
Out digging in more manure, and weeding last weekend, I noticed a garden regular, the blackbird with an albino patch, having a feast on unfortunate worms revealed by the earthworks. And sometime later the cat struck lucky with a mouse that she laid separated from its head at the bottom of the stairs…… to greet me first thing Monday morning. (Wild)life is tough on the flowerbeds in suburbia.
Thinking about the most delicious things I’ve eaten in the last 48 hours, the lemon cake was good, after our trip to Tate Modern to see Roni Horn’s exhibition, but not as good as the fork biscuits, made by my friend, Fiona .The recipe involves little more than flour, butter, sugar, lemon zest, and a fork for making ridged patterns on each round biscuit shape. I think they’ll be good for tea on Easter Sunday, and less sickly than all the chocolate that will be scattered about. I like to decorate eggs, and am excited with the acrylic colours I found in Green & Stone , one of the most fabulous art shops in London. See how easy it is to do on my Youtube Make and Do series.
Simple details
December 18, 2008
It’s a week before the big day and there’s masses to do. I’m metaphorically chasing my tail. What a production it is: travel plans, the lemon and sage stuffing my dad likes, last minute shopping, and so on. But I treasure my Blue Peter moments, making a festive herb wreath , and painting simple designs for cards. Even though it requires time and effort, it’s a kind of Crafty stand off with all that is crass and commercial about christmas.
These are some of my favourite elements for a simple christmas: a blazing log fire; an aromatic Norwegian spruce tree, homemade heart or star shaped biscuits; white tissue, brown paper, and garden twine for wrapping presents; homemade cards with potato cuts or watercolours; as many flickering candles as I have holders for, plus jam jars for tea lights; bowls of hyacinths, amaryllis or white narcissi, natural scent and colour which lasts for ages; mounds of clementines,orbs of orange that taste as good as they look; and ice cold Spanish cava (Sainsbury’s vintage is on special offer) to kick start christmas morning.
The sweet taste of oranges
December 10, 2008
Typing in six layers, including a substantial wool coat, isn’t a peach as sudden movements are restricted (leaping to stop the dog swiping my chocolate biscuit, for example ) but it’s good to feel so wrapped up and cossetted. I suppose I’m being frightfully eco and saving on heating bills by being my own living radiator. But we have to go a lot further in this hot-bath-and-shower-addicted household to make a decent dent in costs. I swoon with motherly pride at the 17 seventeen year old’s top notes, soaring upwards from the shower, but accompanied by fifteen minutes of steaming and pelting water sounds makes it a pricey performance. I’m wondering where to find an automatic shower time-out like the ones in the gym, where just as you start to feel properly soaked, it cuts out. Curmudgeonly? I hope it’s not some sort of lingering vibe from the grumpy old man persona that comedian Jack Dee plays in Lead Balloon, the series filmed in our house last summer.
Meanwhile, I’m making up the beds with all the blankets I can lay my hands on including the special no-dog-and-cat-allowed velvet ribbon- edged one. This reminds me that adding a trim to something like a plain tea towel or cushion cover is a simple way to customise a Christmas present. And on this subject, my head is spinning. You’d think that being a stylist and professional shopper, I would be resistant to the frisson of panic induced by the beguiling and glossy gift lists in the magazines. Well, I’m not.
I am pleased though with my more humble DIY Christmas hamper idea: small wooden crates, which clementines come in, lined with tissue and filled with goodies like homemade membrillo; a bar of Green and Black’s chocolate; a packet of frilly white parrot tulip bulbs; or a good read, perhaps Francois Sagan’s classic coming of age Bonjour,Tristesse, for one of the teenagers, or Zoe Heller’s, The Believers. I shan’t forget some gorgeous Christmas delicious scents too, like the intoxicating sweetness of a pot of paperwhite narcissi, or for complete indulgence, a tuberose candle from Diptyque.
AROMATIC ORANGES
Oranges remind me of Christmas in Andalucia: the bulging nets of ‘navelinas’ (they’re the ones without pips) sold at the roadside on the way out of Seville, and the sweet heady blossomed air floating in the half-opened car window as we swept by neat sunlit orange groves. I learned that a tree can fruit and flower at the same time, and that an unwaxed orange is so much more appealing than the artificially shined and waxed ones in Tesco. I also learned how to carefully slice the peel off with a perfectly sharp little knife, cut the orange into wafer thin discs, and chill in the fridge with a little lemon juice, a tablespoon or two of cointreau and a few fresh mint leaves.
At Christmas lunch and the meals to come we continue to enjoy the clean fresh taste of sliced oranges, against the stodge factor of the pudding and mince pies.
Home sweet home
October 15, 2008
Hard times make houses into homes. I’m hoping we’ll see less of city banker style: perfectly good houses extended and interior designed to death and then sold on to make big fat profits. Bring on the recession. Houses are reverting from assets to homes: they have skips outside because owners are staying put instead of making a fast buck and moving on.
As money gets tighter we should automatically start asking ourselves “Do I need this, or do I just want it?” It’s thus for you to decide whether to invest in the new combined hardback edition of Pure Style Home & Garden. Ok, I’m on dodgy ground here, and certainly wouldn’t be so conceited as to think that it is a necessity, but if you don’t have the earlier Pure Style and Pure Style Outside titles, this has hundreds of thrifty and simple home ideas which help save money without forsaking looks and style. Let me know what you think.
Home work
photo/vanessa courtier
It’s important to hide the custard creams if you’re a easily distracted home worker like me. Go for some healthy oatcakes, which can be thrown together with out difficulty:
Add 270g medium oatmeal, one quarter teaspoon baking soda, and a pinch of salt to a bowl. Make a well and pour in 2 dessert spoonfuls of melted butter and 164 ml water. Mix to a stiff paste with a wooden spoon. Knead with the hands and roll out thinly as possible. Cut into circles or triangles and bake in the oven at 200C 400f for 20 to thirty minutes. Makes about 20.
Paris Hilton has paparazzi. So do I: the dog and the cat, who sit or lie with their eyes boring into my back willing me to their food bowls. The dog follows me upstairs, downstairs, to the washing machine, to the bin, back to my desk and so on. When I hit a dead end on the thoughts front I get out into the garden to plant or dig. (Psychologists say that continuous small achievement is the key to happiness). The dog and the cat come too. This morning I planted white wallflowers, hoping they will smell as scented as the mixed colours I usually choose. The dog hung around my spade hoping for a stone to be thrown. The cat watched, eerily balanced on the fence. The rose bushes are thinning with few blooms, like a frail and fragrant aunt. I wonder if enough heat can be squeezed out of the sun to ripen the rest of the tomatoes. I do know a good recipe for green tomato jam.
A visual tonic
October 7, 2008
The park glittered in the still clearness during my early morning dog walk; the light as intense as the sweet liquorice smell from the dried fennel sprig I picked and crushed in my hand. The autumn fall of leaves this year is a breathtaking chemical wonder of nature, suspending belief that summer is over. So much colour. So many variations on yellow, burnt orange and brown. This visual tonic is more energising than herbal Floradix, the liquid plant food for humans, that my friend Bea swears by when she needs perking up.
I say ‘day-lee-a ‘ you say ‘dah-lee-uh’. Whatever the emphasis, dahlias are another last blast of gorgeous autumn colour before the dankness begins. This native Mexican flower imported two hundred years ago has always been a mainstay of the allotment garden, to pick for the table along with the cabbages and beans. I remember grandpa, fag in mouth, carefully tying his prize purple spiky blooms to stakes with green hairy string. In high-up garden circles though, the frilly dahlia was long considered rather vulgar. I’m glad the style bibles and garden columns have made them acceptable again in and outside the vegetable patch, and there are a wonderful array of varieties for any border or pot. On of my favourites is ‘Noreen’ a flirty rich pink pompom shape.
keeping warm
Got to think about keeping out all those beastly draughts this winter, as I don’t want a repeat of the heating bill we ran up last year, especially when energy costs are supposed to rise another whopping 40 percent. Something thick and sensible, but nonetheless good looking, like a curtain lined with a blanket,is going to be a good way to deal with the gale that blows in under the front and side doors. There is a very basic pattern for one, using some tough pink corduroy in my book Sew Easy. It’s based on the same lines as the old insulating curtains we found in the house when we first moved here.
chocolate and chestnut cake
I know I’ve posted this recipe before, but it is too, too delicious, and, because chestnuts are gluten-free, might inspire anyone who has an intolerance and is missing gooey cakes. I admit to being partisan but you must try the peeled organic chestnuts my husband produces at his little factory in Andalucia, South Western Spain
Base:400g peeled chestnuts, 125g caster sugar, 125g chocolate (min 70% cocoa solids), 100g butter
Icing: 15g butter, 125g chocolate, as above, 15ml fresh orange juice, 1 teaspoon grated lemon rind
Process peeled chestnuts and sugar until smooth. Melt chocolate and butter in a large saucepan. Add chestnut/sugar paste and mix until smooth. Turn into a greased cake tin. Icing: melt the chocolate with butter, orange juice, rind, and stir until smooth. Spread over the mixture and chill in the fridge overnight.
Mellow Yellow
September 24, 2008
Last week we waved teenage son off to university with the usual unwanted advice on how not to run up debts. I’m relieved he didn’t spy the card a friend sent me with Oscar Wilde’s quote ‘Anyone who lives within their means, suffers from a serious lack of imagination”. Good for Oscar, but I think its more glamorous being an Einstein of resourcefulness in these credit crunch times.
Let’s take comfort for example. You absolutely don’t have to have the latest piece of designer luxury , but what really is important, is how your cushions are stuffed. With feathers of course. This was one of the first lessons from the white haired tartar of interior decoration I once shared a hallway with. The mere mention of of foam chips would send her into an apoplexy. Decent feather cushion pads don’t cost a fortune and make all the difference between a chair that envelopes you and one that is plain uncomfortable.
Even if I had fifty something million smacker to spend I’m not sure whether a Damien Hirst diamond skull would be my first choice; a couple of Picassos, maybe, but then why can’t art be something that is unpretentious and as simple as leaves pressed in a frame? It’s important to have the confidence in furnishing your home with things that please you not what is fashionable or investment material.
Foodie heaven on a budget? I suggest a few quinces, the golden apples of mythology, made into quince paste or ‘membrillo’ as it is known in Spain. Eat sweet but tart (I add lemon) slivers with a strong cheese like manchego. Not your usual supermarket stock, quinces require sleuth in tracking down. Now is the season. I have often loaded a suitcase with an arm load picked from the finca in Andalucia, where quince trees qrow prolifically. There are surprising number of English country gardens that possess the quince, so ask around. And they’re the kind of garden produce that turn up at a local farmers’ market.
QUINCE PASTE:
Cut up 3 kilos of quinces: peel, pips, core and all. Put in a deep heavy-based pan, cover with water and simmer until soft. Puree mixture with a handblender. Weigh, and add an equal amount of sugar, plus the juice of 2 lemons. Simmer, and stir constantly, until a rich red colour. Line shallow trays with greaseproof paper and spread the hot paste about 4cm deep. Leave to dry and harden in a cool place. Cut into slivers and serve with hard cheese, and a little glass of something sweet like moscatel wine.
More thrifty decoration
July 20, 2008
I rise to the challenge of coming up with homespun, simple ,and cheap ideas. It’s needs must, but somehow more rewarding than pointing like a Carl Sarkozy/Bruni and saying I’ll have that, that, and….. that, regardless of price. Maybe if the boot was on the other foot, and I was able to waft around the Conran shop picking out anything I fancied I might think differently. But for now, I’m happy to go the inventive route to keep my home looking and feeling good.
The really important part of being thrifty and creative, and one important rule that I impress upon clients, is to make the most of what you’ve got, rather than always feeling that NEW, NEW, NEW, is the way to decorate. Take my rather worn and shabby chesterfield, that looks far from chic . I have debated it’s removal many times but it too comfortable , and I figure that it’s worth buying eight metres of good linen for a loose cover and facelift. Similarly, you can do wondrous things with muslin, like making an underskirt for a dressing table, which not only hides clutter but makes an ordinary piece of furniture look more quirky and individual.
Simple detail is another way of showing your creative spin around the home, and it can make an enormous difference for little time and effort. See how this scalloped edging in contrasting plain linen on a basic check blind looks pretty and homely.
The film crew vacates this weekend (I hope the cat’s not become precious, Go Cat won’t be good enough, since her filming debut) and we’re allowed back home. Being away for a month has given me time to reassess. I’ve decided that because no one really ‘sits’ in the sitting part of our knock-through kitchen and living space, I will remove the armchairs and bring in the large kitchen table. We will then have a much larger and more relaxed eating area, rather than being too close to the cooking action and piles of washing up. In turn the big armchairs will go up to the 19 year old’s lair at the top of the house. The kitchen itself, will be freed up for the business of cooking without interruption.
A good opportunity then to throw together some tasty goats cheese and red onion tarts. I have developed rather a pasion for them since I was put down for making half a dozen for our annual street get together. It was good to enjoy some neighbourly bonding and eat great food, partying on the grass around a long table with flickering candles, until the early hours. Suburbia can, indeed, be blissful.
